


Beard Hunters (A Christmas Tale)

by Northumbrian



Series: Nineteen Years and Beyond [48]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Detectives, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northumbrian/pseuds/Northumbrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuletide: ‘tis the season to be jolly! Unfortunately, for four and two-thirds Potters, jolliness is in short supply. Perhaps it is the season of:<br/>Monkeys; fish and chip suppers; shopping in Knockturn Alley; a werewolf wearing glitter lipstick; a Moon in an eccentric orbit; Dung; snow; and a jolly fat man with a white beard.<br/>Hopefully everything will work out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monkey Business

**Author's Note:**

> Consumer Warnings: Like many Christmas gifts, this may contain nuts/nut traces. Please remember, “there ain’t no sanity clause.”
> 
> The Secret Santa Society monitored this story: no Father Christmases were harmed during its writing.

**1\. Monkey Business**

‘My wanna money f’ kissmas!’ Al’s words were loud and forceful.

They surprised Harry. He had been concentrating on reversing the Range Rover into a parking space when Al spoke; consequently he hadn’t been tuned in to Al’s particular version of English pronunciation.

They’d had a very busy day; Al and James had been on their feet for hours, running and laughing as they moved around the zoo. Harry’s younger son had been yawning for some time. Al’s head had dropped forwards as they drove through the city streets and, when Harry noticed, he’d assumed that Al had fallen asleep. Momentarily unable to make sense of Al’s indecipherable words, he glanced across at his wife and raised an enquiring eyebrow. Al’s sudden request seemed more than a little unusual.

‘I’m sorry, Al, but you can’t have a monkey for Christmas,’ said Ginny, answering and translating at the same time.

‘Can I?’ asked James hopefully. ‘They’s funny.’

‘Yes, James have one, pulleeez, Moomee,’ Al added his voice to that of his brother, this time trying a more subtle and polite approach.

‘They _are_ funny. But monkeys aren’t pets, boys,’ Ginny told their sons. ‘I know that they made you laugh when you saw them at the zoo, but they’re kept in big enclosures for a reason; they need a lot of room. They can’t live in a house, and they bite, so no, I _am_ sorry, but you can’t have a monkey either, James.’

‘Huh,’ James grunted his displeasure. ‘I never gets nothing I wants.’ His annoyance, however, was forgotten almost immediately. ‘What’s ’at? Where is us now?’ He asked. James was leaning sideways in his car seat and pointing at the floodlit rock in front of them.

‘We are still in Edinburgh, James. We’ve just been to Edinburgh Zoo, and that is Edinburgh Castle. We can go and take a look around it tomorrow, if you want. Would you like that?’ asked Harry.

‘Hmmm…’ James’s answer began with an uncertain mumble as he gazed curiously up at the floodlit rock. ‘Dunno,’ he responded uncertainly.

Harry watched James in the mirror, and saw a cunning expression light up his son’s face. He immediately guessed what was coming and, just as he expected, James made a last ditch effort.

‘Rather have a monkey,’ James said, as though it was a perfectly natural alternative to visiting a castle. Harry and Ginny exchanged a smile, and pretended not to hear.

Harry pulled on the handbrake, unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out from the warm shelter of the car. The vindictive northerly wind attacked immediately, turning his breath into a fine fog as it worked hard to blast the warmth from him. He quickly opened Al’s door, reached into the gap between Al’s seat and James’s seat and grabbed his coat. He also picked up Ginny’s coat and placed it in his wife’s backward-reaching hand.

They would soon need to find somewhere else to keep the coats, he realised. The thought made him grin foolishly.

‘Thanks, Harry,’ Ginny said as, still seated, she began to struggle into her coat.

I’ll get you out in a minute, Al,’ Harry said, avoiding Al’s grasping hands. He closed Al’s door to protect his boys from the wind, pulled on his coat and strode quickly around to Ginny’s door. He arrived just as she opened it.

‘I can manage, Harry,’ his wife protested.

‘It’s a cold, dark and windy night, and the cobbles are slippery,’ Harry told her firmly. ‘You don’t want to fall, do you?’

‘I’m pregnant, Harry, not incapable,’ Ginny protested. Harry simply grinned and reached out to hold her hand anyway. She gave in and allowed him to help her down from their car.

‘If you’re sure that you aren’t incapable, big-bump…’ said Harry. The treacherous wind blew his final word away from her.

‘Big what?’ asked Ginny sharply. Her eyes scorched him. She had not been sleeping well, and tiredness was making her even more short-tempered than usual.

‘Big bumP.’ Harry hastily emphasised the final _p_. He pulled her into a tight hug, caressed her swollen belly, and kissed her forehead. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘Baby isn’t kicking you in the bladder or anything, is she?’

‘Don’t make such a fuss, Harry,’ Ginny ordered. ‘I’m fine, honestly. I’m a little breathless, but that’s to be expected. She’s been quiet today.’

‘But not too quiet?’ Harry asked, suddenly worried.

‘No, Harry, she’s moving, but not kicking hard. She isn’t as energetic as James was, but she isn’t as quiet as Al was, either. Please don’t fuss.’ Ginny kissed him.

‘In that case, can you get the boys ready while I get the luggage?’

‘Of course,’ she said, squeezing his hand fondly.

Harry strode around to the boot and beginning to unpack. Al’s pushchair was the first thing he lifted out. By the time Ginny placed their younger son onto the pavement, he had it unfolded and ready for its occupant. While she was strapping him in, and readjusting his bright yellow bobble-hat, Harry pulled out one very small and two rather large suitcases, and placed them on the flagstones.

Ginny had already fastened James into his coat; Harry lifted him from his car seat, stood him on the pavement, and crouched down in front of him. The wind continued to nip at Harry’s hands and face as he pulled James’s bright orange mittens from his elder son’s pocket and helped him to put them on. When James finally cooperated, and put his thumbs where they were supposed to be, Harry stood and inspected his firstborn.

James’s woolly hat, with two woolly cannonballs dangling from it, matched the mittens. The hat and mittens had been a present from Ron (theoretically they were from Hermione too, but Harry knew that Hermione had little say in her husband’s fanatical purchase of every piece of Chudley Cannons’ children’s merchandise). The hat clashed with James’s auburn hair, and with almost every item of clothing he had. Ginny had objected strenuously to her brother’s attempt at early indoctrination. She’d failed. Because of the dangling cannonballs, the hat and gloves were James’s favourites.

Harry locked the car, pocketed the key, and finally found the opportunity to put on his own hat and gloves.

‘Do you want me to carry your case, James?’ asked Ginny as she adjusted her green scarf, gloves, and beret.

‘No, fanks, Mummy, I’m a big boy, I can manage,’ James pulled up the handle and began to drag his little case along the path. Harry and Ginny exchanged a smile, and watched him head off down the street. He stopped and looked back worriedly.

‘Where we goin’?’ he asked.

‘Side Way,’ said Ginny, pointing in the opposite direction. ‘It’s this way. Follow me, James.’

She set off down the well-lit street pushing Al’s buggy away from the castle, and leaving Harry with the two large cases.

After he’d magically protected the car, Harry muttered a spell over the luggage. He then picked up the two, now almost weightless, cases and followed his wife and sons. They soon turned off the well lit street and into a dark and narrow alley; James slowed and nervously looked over his shoulder.

‘It’s okay, James. Just follow Mummy, I’m right behind you,’ Harry reassured his son.

When they reached the end of the alley, Ginny drew her wand and tapped on a plain wooden door. The door swung silently open and Harry followed his family into Side Way, the magical centre of Edinburgh. The moment they stepped through the door it noiselessly closed behind them.

The Potters stood and gazed down the street in wonderment. Compared to the unlit alley they had just left, Side Way was eye-burningly bright. Magical banners and illuminations hung high above the street. Everything was animated. Christmas crackers exploded noisily, stars twinkled and shone, and parcels glowed. Every shop was decorated for Christmas.

‘Look at a wand. Look at a Santa!’ James squealed, pointing at the decorations hanging above the street.

‘Santa!’ Al squeaked a happy confirmation. ‘Kissmas.’

‘Kissmas,’ Harry confirmed. He slid his arm as far as it would go around his wife’s swollen waist and kissed her cheek. ‘I like kissmas.’

‘So do I, Harry,’ Ginny whispered as she returned his hug.

As the Potters strolled slowly down the street, pointing at the illuminations and gazing into the shop windows, they were just another family staring at the Christmas lights. They passed the local Ministry building—the Scottish Office—and a fish and chip shop called “The Big Bite”.

‘I is hungry!’ James announced as the smell of fish and chips wafted from the open door of the carry out. ‘I wants chips.’

‘We’ll eat soon, James,’ Harry promised. ‘We’re going down to check into the hotel now. We’re staying at the Wand and Thistle tonight, and tomorrow night, too. It’s at the end of the street. Can you see it?’ Harry pointed at the palatial granite structure in the distance. ‘We need to let them know that we’re here, and offload these cases. Then we can find somewhere to eat.’

They continued down Side Way, but did not get very far. A huge crowd of people were staring into a series of shop windows. The shop, according to the ornate green letters affixed above the windows was called “Phoenix”. There was nothing else to identify the place, although from the sheer size of the frontage, it seemed to Harry that the place must be a department store.

‘Look at eh windows!’ James squealed. He dashed forward, dragging his little case behind him. Harry gazed in slack-jawed astonishment at the shop windows. Ginny stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

‘I was told stories about “Phoenix’s windows” when I was small,’ Ginny told him. ‘When I suggested that we bring the kids to Edinburgh for a few days it was partly to see this for myself. It’s even more impressive than I imagined.’

Harry simply nodded. The shop front consisted of six huge windows, and in each window a story was being enacted by magically animated figures. In the first window, while Santa slept in a rocking chair, parcels were being wrapped and labelled and dropped down a chute by very busy house-elves. Harry blinked rapidly and glanced at Ginny. He was convinced that he’d just seen the names Harry, Ginny, James and Albus written on the labels by the animated elf. Ginny was beaming.

‘I saw it, too,’ she confirmed. ‘It must be some sort of identification spell, like the Marauder’s Map, or the Ministry security system.’

Al was frantically demanding to be released from his buggy, and James was in serious danger of disappearing into the multitude. While Ginny unfastened Al, Harry dropped the suitcases and retrieved a protesting James, and his case, from the crowd. Securing the cases to the buggy, and placing an alarm spell on them, just in case, Harry lifted Al onto his shoulders.

With James between them, tightly holding his parent’s hands, the Potters spent almost half an hour simply staring at the colourful display in the shop window. They watched sacks being loaded onto a sleigh, in one window, saw Santa being tipped out of his rocking chair and woken up by a naughty elf in another, and finally in the last window, watched the laden sleigh fly out through the glass and vanish into the night sky.

The main store entrance was next to the final window. The doors were angled on the corner of the building, with the store name illuminated in bright green above them. Next to the store a wide alley led to a street of what seemed to be residential properties.

‘At is better’n a zoo,’ James announced happily as the magical sleigh again flew through the window and shot into the night sky.

‘Bettranzoo,’ Al confirmed, his eyes shining in wonderment. ‘Bye, Santa,’ he waved at the spot where the sleigh had vanished.

Harry retrieved their cases and the buggy, returned a protesting Al to his seat and they resumed their stroll along Side Way.

‘Want chips,’ James reminded his parents. ‘Very hungry.’

‘We’ll eat soon, James,’ Ginny promised as they hurried along to the Wand and Thistle.

There were two entrances to the inn. An ornate set of double doors in the centre of the frontage were presided over by a uniformed doorman. To the right, above a second more modest entrance, a sign indicated the presence of the “saloon bar”. The bar was crowded and raucous and before they had reached the building the doorman was already anticipating their arrival at his more sedate portal.

‘Mr Potter, Mrs Potter,’ the man nodded a polite greeting as he held open the door. A bellboy was already on his way to collect their cases. There were a few moments confusion in the foyer. It took Ginny some time to persuade James to hand over his case, which contained his precious teddy bear, to this strange man.

‘It’s extremely valuable, take good care of it,’ Ginny warned the bellboy.

The Potter family followed the young man through the foyer, past a collection of comfortable-looking armchairs and sofas. To the right an arched entrance led to a genteel and expensive-looking restaurant. The Reception desk was ahead, and a side door on the right led to the noisy bar. The reception witch was extremely efficient and they were soon in their fifth floor suite, where they hastily dumped their cases. While they had been in the lift, James had again been loudly reminding them of his hunger.

‘We’ll go back to that fish and chip shop,’ Ginny announced. ‘James wants his chips, and I’ve had an unhealthy craving for battered cod ever since we passed the place.’

‘But…’ Harry began.

‘The hotel restaurant looks wonderful, Harry,’ she said. ‘But I really do want that cod, and if we go back there we won’t have to wait for the waiters to take our orders and for the meals to be prepared. We can eat here tomorrow night.’

‘I is very, very, hungry, an’ I really wants chips,’ James added his voice to the debate.

‘Okay, let’s go back to the Big Bite and get some fish and chips,’ Harry said.

‘And mushy peas,’ Ginny added.

‘Now,’ James demanded.

Harry checked his battered pocket watch. It was almost seven o’clock, an hour later than James usually ate, and he had a Weasley-like tendency to crabbiness when he was hungry. Leaving the unopened cases on the bed, Harry picked up Al and prepared to leave.

‘Let’s go,’ he said. And so they strode back out of the inn minutes after their arrival.

They were delayed, once again, by the shop window. The store was now closed, and the crowds at the window had thinned a little, but the window was as bright and animated as ever. Al was sitting on Harry’s shoulders and excitedly pointing at everything.

‘Santa, parcel, elf, pwesent, twain,’

‘Present, train,’ Harry corrected automatically.

‘Pwesent, twain,’ Al confirmed. Harry sighed.

‘He’ll grow out of it, Harry,’ said Ginny quietly. Harry nodded.

‘I wonder how they do it?’ Harry asked as he watched the laden sleigh vanish into the night sky once more. ‘It must be remarkably complicated magic.’

‘Perhaps it’s better not to know,’ a deep and crisp voice said evenly. ‘Perhaps knowing how it is done would undo the magic. Or perhaps it’s simply Christmas magic, Mr Potter. Even Muggles can feel the magic of Christmas, you know.’

Harry turned to see who had spoken. He found himself face to face with a portly, red-faced man with a bushy white beard. The man’s resemblance to the animated Santa in the shop windows was remarkable.

‘Santa!’ Al screamed excitedly. The man beamed and pushed his half-moon glasses back up his nose.

‘Santa!’ James confirmed. ‘But where’s a red robes?’

‘Do you really think I’m Father Christmas, Al? Do you, James?’ the bearded man asked. ‘Don’t you think that Santa will be very busy now? He must be very busy indeed, much too busy to walk around Edinburgh looking at shop windows. Perhaps I simply look a little like Father Christmas.’

James’s face creased in puzzlement. The man smiled and winked at Harry and Ginny, his eyes twinkling.

‘Unless I really am who you think I am. Perhaps I’m not wearing red because then everyone would recognise me. Perhaps I’m in disguise and looking around the streets, to see which children have been good; and which ones have been naughty. Have you been good boys this year?’ He asked.

‘Yes,’ squeaked Al, nodding his head so vigorously that his hat fell off.

‘Every day?’ asked James worriedly. The man chuckled and patted James’s head.

‘He’s good most of the time,’ said Harry.

‘That’s all right, then,’ the man said. He looked down at James, smiled, and raised his eyes to look into Harry’s and Ginny’s faces. ‘That’s me,’ he told them. He pointed at the shop window, in which a placard read “Santa’s Busiest Day, courtesy of N J Phoenix, Dept. Store”. ‘You can call me Nick,’ he added.

‘Santa, my wanna money f’ kissmas,’ begged Al.

‘I wanna monkey, too, please,’ James said.

‘Monkeys, eh? Well, I’ll see what I can do,’ the man said. ‘You’d better be on your very best behaviour for the next few days, boys.’

‘We will,’ James promised.

‘Will,’ Al echoed, nodding furiously.

‘Well, I must be going, it’s been a pleasure to meet you Mr Potter, Mrs Potter, boys,’ the man said. He turned on his heels and strolled off down the street.

‘Bye, Santa,’ said James.

‘Bye-bye, Santa,’ Al added.

Harry looked down at his older son, ‘Do you think he really was, Santa Claus, James?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ James nodded with certainty.

‘Why?’ asked Ginny.

‘Because he knowed our names,’ James said wisely.

Harry smiled at his wife, but said nothing. Both he and Ginny were usually recognised in the street, and anyone who took even a cursory interest in the Wizarding press would know the names of their children. The Prophet was, in fact, speculating wildly on the sex, and name, of the next Potter. The man, who Harry assumed to be the store owner, Nick Phoenix, had certainly used this knowledge to enter into the spirit of Christmas.

‘Interesting man,’ Harry whispered. ‘He certainly had the kids going, didn’t he? Do you think he really is Mr Phoenix?’

‘Of course not, Harry,’ Ginny said loudly. ‘He really _was_ Santa, he simply didn’t want to admit it.’ Harry caught the fleeting wink and downward glance she gave as she spoke, and realised that Al had been listening.

‘Santa!’ Al confirmed happily.

The Big Bite had a long queue of customers at the counter, patiently waiting for take-aways. There were also half-a-dozen tables, two of which were empty.

‘Shall we eat in, rather than get a take-away?’ Harry asked.

‘Yes,’ James said. Ginny shrugged and nodded her agreement.

The plain wooden tables were unencumbered by anything as fancy as a tablecloth. The place was basic although, in an attempt to show some deference to the season, the industrial-sized salt cellar and vinegar bottle on the tables each had tinsel tied around them. Harry led his family over to the least greasy looking of the vacant tables. He was only just beaten to the table by a flustered looking woman who hastily cleaned it with a wave of her wand.

They had been spotted as soon as they entered. Harry heard the name “Potter” leaping from lip to lip in a chain of increasing incredulity. He hated eating in Wizarding restaurants for that reason. Several people in the queue looked across at them. Someone, Harry didn’t see who, shouted: ‘Whet’re ye deein’ in here, Potter?’

While Harry was formulating a reply, James took it upon himself to answer. ‘My hungry, want chips,’ he said loudly. The queue laughed.

‘Guid answer wee’un,’ an elderly woman said. ‘Merry Christmas to ye.’

‘And a happy Hogmanay to you,’ replied Harry politely, thankful that he and Ginny been persuaded to attend the Scottish Office Hogmanay Ceilidh a few years earlier.

The woman smiled, and turned back to talk to her companion. The other customers relaxed. The stir the Potter’s presence had begun to create seemed to leak away. Curious newcomers joining the end of the queue for a take away were told, “The wee’uns want chips”, and that was enough.

The witch who had wiped the table had disappeared during the conversation. She returned a short while later, bringing with her a high-chair for Al. Ginny ordered while Harry slid a contented Al into the high chair. It was only a matter of minutes before the witch returned with their order.

‘Wow,’ James stared at his plate. ‘Lots of chips! Wassat?’

‘Fishcake, James,’ Ginny said. ‘You can’t live on chips.’

‘Can,’ said James, with the absolute and unwavering certainty all three-year-olds have.

Harry cut one of the fishcakes in half and passed it to Al. James didn’t object, however, he refused to part with any of his chips, despite the generosity of the portion. Instead, Harry and Ginny provided Al with some from their own plates.

Al’s eyes were drooping by the time they finished their meal. Harry paid the waitress, and was about to lift Al from the high chair when James suddenly closed his eyes and fell face forward onto his plate, fast asleep.

‘I know how he feels. It’s been a busy day,’ said Ginny, yawning. ‘We’ll have to carry him back to the hotel. I’ll take Al; can you carry James, please, Harry?’

‘Of course,’ said Harry as he gently lifted James’s face from the plate, wiped the mushy peas, crushed chips and vinegar from James’s face and carefully lifted his still sleeping son into his arms.

‘My still wamma nunkey, peas,’ James burbled as Harry rested his son’s head on his shoulder and sat him in the crook of his arm.

There was only one other table still occupied when they left the restaurant, and the queue had disappeared. The witch who had served them held the door open for them. 

‘Thanks! Are you finished, once they’ve gone?’ Ginny asked her, glancing toward the family who were still eating.

The waitress smiled and shook her head.

‘We’ll ha’ a couple o’ quiet hours noo, up until the pubs shut, and then it’ll be bedlam fer an hour or so. We dinnae close until midnight.’

The Potters made their way down the almost deserted street. The window display was still working, but there were only a couple of families gazing into it. As they passed the store there was a loud wail from the side street.

‘Nooo…’ the voice tailed off into sobs of anguish.

‘Wuzzat?’ James asked, suddenly wide awake.

‘Wha?’ Al added his voice to the enquiry. Harry and Ginny exchanged a worried look in which several questions were silently asked and answered.

_It sounds like someone’s in trouble._

_Yes, but what about the kids? Will you look after them?_

_No, we’ll all go._ Ginny drew her wand and motioned Harry forward.

Each carrying a now wide-awake child, Harry and Ginny moved cautiously into the side street. They soon found the source of the noise. Slumped at a side door, his head in his hands, sat the man they’d been talking to earlier.

‘Mr Phoenix?’ said Harry. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’ve been robbed,’ he sobbed. ‘Some vile villain stunned me from behind, I heard the shout of _Stupefy_ , and when I woke, I was like this.’

The man lifted his head from his hands and revealed a shining and perfectly clean-shaven face.

‘My beard,’ he sobbed.

Harry felt James twist in agitation.

‘Summun stole Santa’s beard,’ James wailed. He burst into tears. Al was equally distraught.

‘Don’t worry, boys,’ Ginny said. ‘We’ll soon put this right. She pointed her wand at the man’s face. ‘Hold very still, please, Santa,’ she said.


	2. Room Service

**2\. Room Service**

From the corner of his eye he continued to observe the three expensively robed businessmen at the next table. They were still watching his girlfriend. He had pointed them out to her during their main course.

‘They’re being as discreet as a shark in a paddling pool,’ he’d told her. She had simply laughed, turned, and given the three middle-aged wizards one of her sultriest smiles.

Her curly brown hair was fastened up in an ornate pile and her face was, as usual, immaculately made up. He found himself staring at her lips. They sparkled in the light; there seemed to be glitter in her vibrant pink lipstick. She was talking animatedly, the way she always did. He watched and smiled and nodded. It was pointless trying to interrupt her, he knew that. She was waving her arms whilst making an important point about current Muggle fashions, a point completely lost on him. The bateau neckline sweater dress she was wearing had slipped sideways down her arm revealing a bare shoulder. The wolf bite on it was barely visible. He smiled, realising that a year ago he’d had no idea what a bateau neckline was.

When she paused for breath, he again looked around. The Wand and Thistle was a traditional and rather old-fashioned Wizarding establishment and, in deference to their sedate and ancient surroundings, the majority of diners were wearing very traditional robes. As usual, he and his girlfriend were different. Although some of the other, younger, diners were also in Muggle clothes, they were a tiny minority; and absolutely no one was dressed like she was.

They were both casual-smart, or so she told him. He was wearing black chinos and a pale green polo shirt, clothes which she’d bought him for his birthday. She wore tight black leggings which were lace trimmed below the knee, stilettos, and the bright pink sweater dress. Despite it being loose at the neck, below her bust the dress was glued tightly to her curves and it barely covered her bottom. Because of their clothing, they had created something of a stir when they arrived. He was becoming used to it. His girlfriend always liked to be the centre of attention.

She stopped talking long enough to daintily eat the last morsel of her dessert. Once finished, she neatly placed her spoon and fork into her empty bowl, and placed her hands on the table. The false fingernails she wore were the same shade of glittery pink as her lips, and her shoes. He was about to comment on the fact when she spoke.

‘That was very nice,’ she said. ‘How was your apple tart, Mark?’

‘Good,’ Mark told her. ‘But there really wasn’t enough of it, which is a pity. You know how much I enjoy eating a tasty tart, Lavender.’ He kept his face straight as he gazed into her violet eyes. Lavender giggled.

‘Are you finished, sir, madam?’ the young waiter enquired as he arrived to clear the plates. Mark gave a rueful nod. Even after all these years, it still astonished him how much better the service was when he was dining with Lavender.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said. She gave the waiter a vibrant smile and then turned back to Mark, stared into his face and sighed dramatically. ‘At this time of the year, I wish I was in Australia, or even Antarctica,’ she told him. ‘Sixteen hours of night! Seventeen if I stay at your place! That will be the longest ever for me. I hate winter with its long nights and short days. I hate Christmas.’

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand consolingly. ‘At least it isn’t the night of Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day, Lavender,’ he said. ‘It’s the night of the twenty-third tae twenty-fourth. I’ll be with you all night, you know that. Nice nails, by the way, they match your shoes.’

Lavender flashed a brief smile and her eyes gleamed momentarily, but she was determined to remain a martyr to her condition. He was used to that, too.

‘It’s all right for you, Mark,’ she grumbled petulantly. ‘You’re not the one who turns into a wolf every full moon night.’

The young waiter dropped the dessert bowls and took two hasty and horrified steps backwards. The bowls landed on the floor with a silence-inducing clatter. One of them broke. The background murmur of conversations halted, an expectant hush fell across the restaurant, and everyone turned to see what was going on.

‘Clumsy fool,’ said one of the three businessmen.

The corners of Lavender’s mouth drooped, and she looked down sadly. That was stage one, Mark knew. By the time she had raised her head, glared at the man and bared her teeth in a snarl of rage, Mark was already at her side. He gently placed a finger on her lips. To his surprise, it worked.

‘I’ll have the bill, now please,’ Mark told the waiter firmly. ‘My girlfriend and I will wait for it in the foyer, and I’d like the maître d’ tae bring it tae me!’

‘Mark…’ Lavender growled.

‘I’m no’ letting ye malkie the wee scunner, Lavender,’ said Mark, dropping into the broad Scots he used only when he was annoyed. He spoke quietly, but loudly enough for the man to hear. ‘This place is full of families enjoying a nice meal. It’s only a few days to Christmas. We’re not going tae make a scene and spoil everyone else’s evening, okay?’ He stared anxiously down into his girlfriend’s face and watched as her eyes flickered around the busy restaurant taking in the hustle and bustle.

‘Make a scene and you’ll lose the high ground, Lavender,’ he told her. ‘And you know how much you like tae be on top.’ Lavender giggled again.

She took the hand he proffered and allowed him to pull back her chair and help her to her feet.

‘Thank you, Mark,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to know that there are still _some_ gentlemen in the world.’ She took his arm, stared at the waiter through disdainfully narrowed eyes, and flounced indignantly from the room.

Lavender was good at flouncing. As Mark followed her from the restaurant, he considered asking her whether she practiced; he decided against it. When they reached the foyer of the inn, it was almost deserted. The only person in the place was the reception witch. She looked up from her desk when they entered, and continued to surreptitiously stare. It was the clothes, Mark knew.

‘Malkie?’ she asked. ‘That’s a new one.’

‘It means thump, beat up, assault, that sort of thing,’ he told her. She chuckled.

He was heading toward a sofa, but Lavender forcefully guided him toward a large leather armchair. She almost pushed him into it, kicked off her stilettos, climbed into his lap and hugged her shins, her chin resting on her knees, her lips in a petulant pout.

Mark simply enveloped her in his arms, one hand caressed her hip, the other her bare foot. She leaned sideways into his chest.

‘Bigot,’ she grumbled into his sternum. ‘I was having a lovely time, and he ruined it! He’s an idiot.’

Mark hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. ‘Everyone in the world is an idiot except you and me,’ he said.

‘And sometimes I’m not certain about you,’ added Lavender immediately.

Mark smiled; it was an old and pathetic joke which they’d shared for a few years now. He said the next line automatically.

‘No, you must be the idiot; you’re going out with me, aren’t you?’ he asked. As he completed the exchange she lifted her chin from her knees and smiled. Sliding her arms around his neck, she kissed him. They continued to kiss until they were interrupted.

The head waiter cleared his throat loudly and said, ‘Excuse me sir and madam, your bill.’ He handed them a receipt on a silver tray.

‘No, he’s Mark and I’m Lavender,’ said Lavender flippantly. The maître d’ wasn’t amused.

‘Your waiter needs tae learn some tact,’ Mark said, taking the bill from the tray and looking at it carefully. ‘He shouldn’t be dropping plates and running away like that. It upsets my girlfriend.’

Lavender was looking tearfully up at the man. It was an impressive display of emotion, but the maître d’ remained impassive.

‘I think that she deserves an apology,’ said Mark. ‘And this bill is wrong.’

‘Wrong, sir?’ the maître d’ affected surprise.

‘You’ve added the optional service charge tae this bill. I dinnae see why I should leave a tip for the person who insulted my girlfriend,’ said Mark forcefully.

‘Are you guests at the hotel, sir?’ the maître d’ asked.

‘Does it make a difference?’ Mark asked sharply. He was becoming annoyed. If the man asked them to leave, he would identify himself. ‘The hotel restaurant is open tae the public. We are entitled tae be here.’

‘Indeed, sir. But this is a private building and The Wand and Thistle Inn can choose to refuse service to anyone,’ said the maître d’ smoothly. ‘You are indeed, our guests, but we are entitled by law to remove disruptive persons from the premises.’

‘Disruptive!’ said Lavender scornfully.

Mark felt the temperature rising. Lavender was already simmering and, unless the head waiter turned down the heat, she’d soon reach boiling point. He released her from his hug. She sprang from his lap and stood staring at the man. The maître d’ was a big man, both tall and wide, he towered over Lavender, especially now she was barefoot, but he looked worried. _He should_ , Mark thought as he sprang to his feet and stood behind her.

Do you _really_ want me to be disruptive?’ asked Lavender quietly.

Mark stepped alongside Lavender, put an arm around her, and reached into his pocket for his Law Office Identity Card.

‘My name is Mark Moon and I’m…’ Mark began. He got no further, because the sudden sound of crying children silenced him.

The maître d’ looked past them and his eyes widened in concern. Mark and Lavender were instantly forgotten as both the maître d’ and the reception witch began to move rapidly towards the sound. Mark turned and saw the Potters. Harry was carrying James, who was sobbing into his father’s shoulder. A howling Albus was resting on Ginny’s swollen belly, and rubbing his snotty nose on the collar of her coat.

‘Everything okay, boss?’ Lavender asked loudly.

‘Obviously not, Lavender,’ Ginny snapped. ‘And don’t call him boss.’

‘Hi, Lavender, hello, Mark,’ said Harry, raising his voice in order to be heard over his children’s cries. ‘We’re having a minor family crisis. I was going to call in to your office after we’d settled the boys, Bailiff Moon. Who’s the duty Bailiff? Or … do you have plans? Are you going somewhere special, or would you like to come up to our suite and have a coffee with us?’

Mark took a vindictive pleasure in the head waiter’s look of panic. The moment Lavender had shouted her flippant greeting to Harry the man had realised that the werewolf he’d been about to eject was also an Auror and, because of Harry’s greeting, he now also knew that Mark was a Bailiff of the Law Office.

‘This idiot was just about to throw us out,’ said Lavender, smirking at the maître d’. ‘So we’d love to come up to your suite, Harry.’

‘I’ll have your bill corrected and sent up to the Potter’s suite, madam,’ the maître d’ gave a cursory bow and left.

‘You should speak tae your waiter about his attitude toward werewolves, too,’ said Mark. The man’s back stiffened, but he said nothing.

‘Can someone arrange for a pot of coffee for four, and two hot chocolates, to be sent up to our suite,’ Ginny called after the man.

‘Of course, Mrs Potter,’ said the reception witch.

Mark watched the maître d stride into the restaurant. Lavender ignored the man. It appeared to Mark that she had forgotten all about the incident in the restaurant. She was busily fussing over the Potter boys.

‘Hello little Jamesy-wamesy,’ Lavender cooed, pitching her voice very high. ‘What on earth is the matter, sweetie?’

‘Summon’s stole Santa’s beard,’ James sobbed. ‘An’ Mummy couldn’t fix it!’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t _really_ Santa…’ Lavender began. A scorching stare from Ginny instantly silenced her.

‘We’ll tell you what’s happened when we get upstairs,’ said Harry, pointedly glancing at the children.

As Lavender scooped up her stilettos and meekly followed the Potters into the lift, Mark looked curiously at Ginny Potter. He had never been able to silence Lavender like that. Not even Don Brown, Lavender’s father, could shut her up that quickly. It was astonishing. But what was Mark found even more astonishing was what James Potter had said.

‘This … er, man, er … Santa,’ Mark began cautiously. ‘Was he stunned first, and then shaved?’

‘Yes.’ Harry sounded surprised. James stopped sobbing and stared at Mark.

‘And you tried, but you couldn’t make his beard grow back using magic,’ said Mark.

‘How do you know _that_?’ asked Ginny suspiciously.

‘What do you know?’ Harry demanded.

‘Yeah, wha’choo know?’ James parroted. Al had twisted around in Ginny’s arms and was also gazing at Mark. He suddenly wondered whether he’d said too much. It could simply be a coincidence, although if it was, it would be a very strange one.

‘Juno oodiddit?’ demanded James. It took Mark a second or two to process James’s question.

‘It sounds like it’s the work of the Beard Hunter, James,’ said Mark seriously. ‘But it’s too late in the year, and, anyhow, it isnae our turn until next December.’

‘Beard Hunter!’ Lavender snorted with laughter. ‘You’re making it up…’ Once again Ginny glared her into silence.

‘Beard Hunter?’ asked Ginny urgently.

‘Why is it too late in the year? And what do you mean, not your turn?’ demanded Harry as the lift doors opened. He then prevented Mark from answering. ‘No, wait, we’ll talk when we get into our suite,’ he ordered, leading them along the corridor.

Mark tried to gather his thoughts. This was _the Potters_! Lavender knew them well, very well. She’d been in the same House, in the same class, as Harry Potter, and now she worked for him. Mark had met the Potters a few times, initially through his job in the Scottish Law Office and later through his relationship with Lavender. He knew them well enough to say hello, but unlike Lavender, he didn’t consider himself to be a friend.

Over the years, Lavender had taken Mark to a couple of parties at the Harry and Ginny’s home, but he wasn’t good at parties, and he hadn’t seen the Potters since before Al was born. With two young children the Potters didn’t socialise much.

Harry had only just unlocked the door to his suite when the maître d’ himself arrived with a silver tray containing their order.

‘Your drinks, Mr Potter,’ he said, placing the tray on a table in the richly appointed lounge. ‘Shall I pour, Mrs Potter?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Ginny.

The head waiter turned to Mark. ‘I’d like to apologise, on behalf of the Wand and Thistle Inn, Auror Brown, Bailiff Moon. I’m afraid that there was a misunderstanding, your waiter failed to fully apprise me of the unfortunate incident. There will be no charge for your meal.’

Mark rolled his eyes. ‘Apology accepted,’ he said.

‘Don’t be too hard on the boy,’ Lavender added.

‘Of course not, madam. Sir.’ With a polite bow, the man turned and left.

‘Hot chocolate, and then bed for you two,’ Ginny told her boys firmly. She tested the drinks, gave one to James, cooled the other one with her wand and poured it into a child cup which Harry had retrieved from a suitcase.

‘Now, tell us about this “Beard Hunter”, Mark,’ Harry ordered.

‘Yes,’ said James, again mimicking his father. ‘Tell ‘bout beard hunner, Mr Mark.’

Mark looked at James and Al; the boys looked serious and rather worried. Mark wondered what had happened.

‘Yes, tell us all a lovely story, Uncle Marky,’ said Lavender smiling sweetly.

‘This will probably sound rather silly,’ began Mark. He took a deep breath.

‘Eight years ago, at the end of November 1999, I was on patrol. I was walking back tae the office when I heard a man wailing. I went tae investigate and found an elderly man sitting on the cobbles. He’d been stunned, and his beard had been shaved off. He was annoyed, and embarrassed. He’d tried tae magically grow the beard back but it hadnae worked. I suggested that he report it as a crime, but he refused. He’d been stunned, but otherwise he hadnae been harmed, and nothing had been taken, apart from his beard. I told the sheriff when I got back tae the office, and he said that he’d seen the same thing, three years earlier. That time the man _had_ reported it. But of course, that was in ’96 and we assumed that it was someone looking for a disguise.

‘On the first of December ’02, the same thing happened again. I didn’t find out until several days later, because it was another Bailiff who found the latest victim. That time, like the previous time, the guy refused tae press charges.’

‘Are you making this up, Mark?’ asked Lavender suspiciously.

‘No,’ he said, firmly shaking his head. ‘It was crazy, once every three years, at the end of November or the beginning of December someone was stealing a beard. Everyone told me tae forget it, but silly things fascinate me…’

‘I’d never have guessed,’ said Ginny, casting a sly glance at Lavender. Fortunately, Lavender laughed.

‘Other than the incident in ’96, no crimes had been reported, so there was nothing tae investigate. As you know, Lavender, in ’04 I took a transfer tae York. That’s when I met you again. Well, not long after you and I started … seeing each other … the same thing happened in York. I thought that someone was playing a joke on me. But I spoke tae a couple of the York Law Office staff and discovered that it was happening there, too, every three years.’

‘You’re nuts, and that’s crazy, Mark,’ said Lavender. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because I thought that you’d tell me I was nuts, or crazy,’ he told her drily. Ginny chuckled. Lavender smiled up at him and leaned against his arm.

‘Do you know where the third place is?’ Harry asked. Mark looked at the Head Auror in surprise. Harry Potter really was taking this seriously.

‘Yes, Cardiff,’ Mark told him. ‘The beard thefts happen every year: Edinburgh, Cardiff, York, then back tae Edinburgh.’

‘So, this year it should have been Cardiff,’ said Harry.

‘It _was_ Cardiff,’ Mark said. ‘I’ve got a friend, Rhys Owen, who’s a Bailiff in Swyddfa Cymru, the Welsh Office. You’ve met him, but I don’t suppose you remember. Anyway, he’s the guy I contacted about it when I was in York. And in York Rhianna Wrigglesworth keeps Rhys and I informed.’

‘Rhianna from York? Why haven’t you ever mentioned _her_ to me before?’ Lavender demanded.

‘Let me get this right,’ Harry said. ‘Every year, in late November…’

‘Or very early December,’ Mark interrupted.

‘Or early December, a man gets stunned and has his beard shaved off,’ Harry continued. ‘And this has been happening since, when, do you know?’

‘The earliest one we’ve found was fifteen years ago, York in 1992,’ said Mark.

‘You’ve been researching this?’ Lavender chuckled. ‘I knew that your life was boring before I spiced it up for you, Marky. But _really_ , chasing stolen beards?’

‘We deal with a lot of crazy pranks in the Sheriff’s offices, Lavender,’ said Mark firmly. ‘I know we’re not Aurors, but we get our share of weird stuff. You know how easy it is for a witch or wizard tae get from place tae place. Rhys, Rhianna and I have known each other for a few years. We meet up three or four times a year for a drink and we discuss cases. Everything from new methods used by housebreakers tae the spate of _Densaugeo_ attacks we had earlier this year.’

‘I used to like that spell,’ said Lavender, smiling at some long-forgotten memory.

‘Aye, well, anyway Rhys caught the tooth fairy…’ After a searchlight glare from Ginny, Mark hastily explained himself to the two alarmed-looking little boys. ‘That’s just what we called her, because she attacked people’s teeth. She wasn’t the _real_ tooth fairy. Anyway, Rhianna and I passed information on tae Rhys, and he caught her. We’d love tae catch the Beard Hunter, or at least figure out why he’s doing it.’

‘Do you have any theories?’ Harry asked.

‘The only theory we’ve come up with is that he works as a…’ Mark looked carefully at Ginny, then addressed the Potter boys directly, ‘ _pretend_ Father Christmas in a shop. He always takes long white beards. We wondered if, perhaps he makes a false beard with them.’ Mark shrugged helplessly. He looked worriedly at Lavender and saw realisation light up her eyes.

‘Merlin’s beard! You’ve checked, haven’t you?’ she laughed. ‘You have _actually_ checked! You’ve gone out and questioned the Father Christmases! How many Santa’s beards have you pulled, Mark?’

‘Snot funny,’ said James. ‘You is hobbible.’

‘Hobbible,’ Al confirmed.

Lavender was crestfallen; she looked to Ginny and Harry for support, but didn’t get any.

‘She’s simply making fun of _me_ , boys. Not Santa,’ said Mark. ‘She didn’t really mean it, she knows that naughty girls dinnae—don’t—get presents. We will help your Pa find out what happened, won’t we Lavender?’

* * *

Lavender woke slowly. Mark’s bed was warm and snug. Despite its stark lack of colour, frills, and the steel cage which the law required to house her transformed self, his bedroom was a place which was now as comforting to her as her own. He wasn’t there; she could still smell their mingled scents, but the smell of Mark was absent, as was the soft sound of his breathing.

As the full moon approached Lavender’s sense of smell was heightening. She breathed deeply and caught the distant smell of raw bacon, he was making breakfast. _Naughty girls_ do _get presents_ , she thought as she lazily and contentedly opened her eyes. It was still dark, but that was to be expected, it was the Solstice, the shortest day. Today there would be a scant seven hours of daylight in Southern Scotland.

Lavender stretched, revelling in the feel of his sheets against her bare skin. She again inhaled. The distant smell had changed and strengthened. Her nose now told her that the bacon was frying. She slipped from the warmth of Mark’s bed into the cool air of his bedroom and wondered if it had snowed overnight. Opening his curtains, she stared out into the grey darkness. The faintest flicker of dawn was lightening the eastern skyline; the sloping roofs of Edinburgh’s Old Town formed an irregular horizon of chimney pots, gables and ridge lines against the skyline. It was a grey day, but there was no snow.

She thought back over their previous evening. Mark had promised the Potter boys that they would help their daddy to find the man who had stolen Santa’s beard. It was ridiculous, but both James and Al were convinced that the man they’d met was Father Christmas, and because Harry and Ginny had encouraged that belief the boys were very worried about what would happen on Christmas Day. Mark had taken it all ridiculously seriously. He had even taken Harry to the Scottish Office, where the Sheriff had confirmed Mark’s story.

Shaking her head, Lavender opened Mark’s chest of drawers and selected the trousers and shirt her boyfriend would wear that day. The pale green polo shirt he’d worn yesterday lay on the floor, where she’d thrown it the previous night. His trousers and underwear were still at the bottom of the bed too. She picked up his polo shirt and wriggled into it. Picking up her handbag she left the bedroom and took three steps across the tiny hall into the bathroom. She’d shower later, she decided. She rapidly re-applied her make-up and, while doing so, she wondered whether she should buy Mark a bedroom mirror for Christmas.

She entered the kitchen as Mark was placing crispy bacon and fried tomato slices onto a piece of dry toast. He spread brown sauce onto a second slice of toast and completed the sandwich. He passed her the plate. It was her favourite breakfast, and he knew it.

Mark was almost always nice, but he was being especially nice, which meant…

‘I’ve made coffee,’ he said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I can make some tea if you’d prefer.’

Lavender took a bite of sandwich, looked at him and smiled. He was being very nice indeed.

‘My lovely Emm mmm…’ she began, pronouncing his initials as a throaty purr.

‘We promised those two little boys that we’d help, Lavender,’ he reminded her. ‘You promised your boss, too. Mrs Potter won’t Apparate while she’s pregnant…’

‘And using the Floo network or a Portkey makes her puke, I know, Mark! That’s why they’re using one of the flying cars.’ Lavender sighed. ‘And that’s why they’re going to investigate in Side Way, to see if they can catch the Beard Hunter and find this mysterious Santa who fled from them when Ginny’s spell failed. But we’re _not_ at work. We’re on holiday and we’re supposed to be going Christmas shopping together,’ she reminded him. ‘We could go to Diagon Alley and do our shopping first, and then travel to Cardiff and York. We could talk to your Law Office friends after we’ve finished shopping.’

‘We should really…’ began Mark.

He got no further. Lavender had interlocked her fingers and raised her hands above her head. The motion lifted the shirt she wore, his shirt, an interesting few inches. It was enough to silence him. She lowered her hands over his head, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. ‘Please say yes, Emmsy-wemmsy. Pwetty pwease … with a Lavender on top.’

He capitulated.

* * *

Charing Cross Road was busy, and it took them some time to cross to the Leaky Cauldron. The bright and cheerful pub was packed to capacity. They were forced to squeeze their way through the crowded bar and had almost reached the door to the rear yard when Lavender heard a snatch of conversation.

‘…it’s Merlin’s beard, genuine!’ a male voice said. ‘S’an amulet what protects ‘gainst fieves.’

Lavender pulled Mark to a halt and motioned him to remain silent.

‘Blimey, Stan,’ she heard a woman reply. ‘Wha’ my gonna do wi’ choo. ‘Ow mu’ choo waste on a bit o’ white beard?’

‘On’y fif’een Sickles, Bella,’ the man protested.

Curious, Lavender grabbed Mark’s hand and made her way toward the voices.

The man was holding a thin chain, which appeared to be silver. A glass lens about an inch in diameter dangled from it, and something was floating inside the lens.

‘That’s pretty,’ Lavender lied, smiling at the couple.

The man was in his thirties, skinny and unshaven. His equally thin companion was probably a few years younger. Her mousy brown hair was hanging lankly over her left eye in what she obviously believed was a fashionable haircut.

‘I’s a protecshun amulet,’ the lank-haired witch said eagerly. ‘I’s yours for a Galleon.’

‘It’s rubbish,’ Mark began. Lavender hissed him into silence.

‘What’s that inside it?’ asked Lavender.

‘At’s what makes it so powerful,’ Bella said. ‘That’s a clump of ‘airs off Merlin’s beard, that is.’

‘Really?’ Lavender expressed wonderment. Sensing that Mark was about to speak again, she squeezed his hand tightly.

‘I’s go’ a guarantee and everyfin’,’ said Stan. He handed her a square of parchment.

Lavender quickly read it, and somehow managed not to laugh.

_Amulet of protection against thievery!_  
Guaranteed!  
This amulet will prevent the wearer from being rooked, bilked, hoodwinked or otherwise bamboozled by ne’er-do-wells!  
The presence of six dozen strands of hair from Merlin’s Beard* guarantees efficacy!!  
My name is my guarantee!!!  
Felonious Crookes, *Merlin’s Beard, Cornwall. 

‘Who did you buy it from?’ Lavender asked curiously.

The couple exchanged a wary look.

‘I’ll give you a Galleon, and you can keep the amulet, if you tell me,’ offered Lavender.

‘A bloke’s sellin’ ‘em outer a suitcase down Knockturn Alley,’ said Stan, eagerly taking the coin Lavender offered him.

After leaving the pub they walked slowly down Knockturn Alley; the top end of the street, the section nearest Diagon Alley, was bustling with shoppers. Despite the chill the pavement cafés were busy. Ever since Justin Finch-Fletchley had bought up the old Borgin and Burkes and opened his clothing store—Finch—in the building, the seedy street had begun a slow transformation. The Finch name and the Chaffinch brand, which specialised in selling Muggle fashions to young witches and wizards, were making Justin a fortune.

Some of the surrounding shops had begun to move upmarket. Several other clothing shops had appeared in the last couple of years. The tendency of many younger people to wear Muggle clothing had initially excited a lot of comment, not all positive. However, as Harry, Ginny, and most of the DA wore Muggle clothes, even to Ministry events, times were changing. Once they had passed “Finch” the street slowly began to return to type, becoming dingy and depressing. They passed a tattoo parlour and entered an area inhabited by stalls where all sorts of cheap, and possibly stolen, goods were being hawked. Lavender saw the little man with his suitcase first.

‘Damn,’ whispered Lavender. ‘You’re going to have to take the lead, Mark.’

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Because that’s not “Felonius Crookes”, it’s Mundungus Fletcher. He’s well known to the Metropolitan Law Office, and to us. A lot of the older Aurors arrest him “on suspicion” whenever they see him.’

‘On suspicion of what?’ Mark asked.

‘On suspicion of being Mundungus Fletcher, and therefore up to no good,’ she explained, smiling. ‘I’ve arrested him once myself, and he never forgets a face, so he’ll scarper the second he sees me.’

Mark released her hand and strode forward. Lavender watched him go, cursed him, and reached into her handbag. Her boyfriend was a nice bloke; he was sort of good-looking in a peculiarly angular way and, thanks to her unceasing efforts to ditch his old wardrobe and completely replace it, he was slowly becoming well-dressed. Mark was kind, thoughtful, conscientious, tidy, and a great cook. He was also extremely obvious. The determined way he strode forward was alarming several stallholders and Mundungus Fletcher was instantly alert. He took one look at Mark, slammed his case shut, and fled. The scruffy little man simply ignored Mark’s demands that he stop.

Mark looked apologetically over his shoulder at her and set off in pursuit. Fletcher was dodging in and out of the stalls. Attempting to stun him in the crowded street wasn’t an option, but Lavender wasn’t concerned. She was confident that the Ministry-imposed anti-Apparition spell across the entire Diagon Alley area meant Dung Fletcher would need to lose his pursuer. She pulled her Auror wallet from her bag. The standard issue wallet contained an Undetectable Extension Charm and a lot of useful equipment. Fishing out her broom, she Disillusioned herself, and set off after them.

Mark was some distance ahead, but because of his height he was easy to spot. She flew rapidly down the alley. At the point where it forked, Mark turned left, toward Knowe Place. Lavender turned right into Awls End, landed, stowed her broom, and made herself visible. The tiny lane curved in a crescent, ending at a narrow passage which led back into Knowe Place.

A sign halfway down the passage identified the door as an entrance to the “Ducking Stool Tavern”. Three underdressed witches stood near the passage. The eldest of them, a hard-faced harridan in her forties strode angrily towards her.

‘This is our spot,’ she said threateningly. ‘If you wanna do business, find somewhere else to do it, or else.’

‘I’m staying,’ Lavender said, showing the woman her Identity Card. ‘Lavender Brown, Auror Office, I’m in a slightly different line of work to you. Have you seen Dung Fletcher?’

The woman didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to, as Fletcher ran out of the door and sprinted toward her.

‘Hello, Dung,’ said Lavender, drawing her wand.

Fletcher turned on his heels, but Mark had followed him from the pub.

‘I ain’t done nuffink,’ he protested.

‘Maybe not, but you can tell that to Harry,’ Lavender told him. ‘You’re selling bits of beard, and Harry knows someone whose beard’s been stolen. He will definitely want to speak to you.’

Mundungus Fletcher swore. ‘I’ll come quietly,’ he said. ‘I don’t want no house-elf after me.’


	3. The Big Store

**3\. The Big Store**

When she woke, Ginny was lying on her side facing the edge of the bed. Her legs were curled up under her bump and, for once, her back wasn’t aching. She shuffled slightly and opened an eye. It was still dark, but she had no idea what time it was. She couldn’t see the clock.

‘It’s almost eight o’clock,’ Harry whispered.

‘Mmm.’ She acknowledged his words with a sleepy mumble, and wondered how long he’d been awake and watching her.

She felt him move behind her, and knew that he was rolling closer for a morning cuddle. His knees touched her bottom and slid gently down the back of her thighs. He slowly shuffled closer until his chest pressed against her back. His feather-light fingers moved across her hip and gently up and around her waist until he was holding both her and their as yet unborn third child. He kissed the back of her head.

‘How are my girls this morning?’ he asked.

‘Lily’s fine, but I’m still a little worried. What are we going to do, Harry?’ she asked.

‘We aren’t going to make any more rash promises to our kids,’ he whispered with feeling. ‘No more, “we’ll fix Santa’s beard”, no more “we’ll find the bad man who did this”. Not unless we can be absolutely certain that we can keep our promises. We’ve failed to do what we told the boys we’d do, and now they are worried about Christmas. I honestly don’t know what to do about it either, Ginny.’

‘We should never have pretended that Mr Phoenix was really Santa,’ Ginny murmured. ‘But I do wish he hadn’t run off like that after my beard growing spell failed to work. With his help we might have been able to persuade the boys that he wasn’t the actual Santa, that he was simply someone pretending.’

‘He was really upset about losing his beard, and that’s what affected the kids,’ whispered Harry despondently. ‘I couldn’t even find the door he walked through. It was almost as if he vanished! He’s got remarkably good security at his store. I think that all we can do is wait until the boys wake up, and ask them what they want to do. Christmas should be happy and magical for them, Ginny, like Christmas at Hogwarts, and at the Burrow, was for me.’

‘We might find out something in Side Way, Harry,’ Ginny replied, but she didn’t sound hopeful. ‘Do you think that Lavender will…’

‘Lavender’s not supposed to be at work. It’s her day off today, and she was planning to go shopping in Diagon Alley with Mark,’ said Harry. ‘I know that Mark promised to help, but this isn’t an Auror operation, Ginny. Lavender’s a good investigator, but when she’s off duty, she’s off duty. I don’t suppose that she will do anything, at least not until she’s finished her Christmas shopping.’

‘We could try to speak to Mr Phoenix.’

‘If he’ll see us,’ said Harry.

‘You’re Harry Potter, and he recognised you! Of course he’ll see you,’ said Ginny. Suddenly uncomfortable, she straightened her legs. ‘But it’s a ridiculous story, what possible use is a stolen beard?’ she asked as Harry moved to accommodate her. She shuffled onto her back, and, after a struggle, rolled to face Harry. They lay belly to belly and looked into each other’s faces in the gloomy half-light.

‘You could use it for a Polyjuice potion,’ Harry said. ‘Apart from that, as Mark said, you could make a false beard with it, but why? And why couldn’t we grow it back?’

‘I was thinking about that when I went to the loo in the middle of the night. I think I know,’ said Ginny. ‘Remember that time George tried to make you grow a beard, just before the Wizengamot meeting. He hit you square in the face with that jinx, but nothing happened.’

‘Because when I shave with my magical razor, I stay shaved,’ said Harry, understanding. ‘You’re right, Ginny. So we know that whoever is doing this is using a magical razor, but we’re no closer to knowing who, or why.’

‘True…’ Ginny said no more. She smiled worriedly at her husband, and lost herself in thought. If only she hadn’t told the boys that she would put things right.

It was no more than a scuffle and a whisper, but it was enough. Their sons were awake. Harry began to move, to sit up, but Ginny put a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from leaving her.

They lay still and silent, listening to the noises coming from the adjacent bedroom. Harry’s breath was warm on Ginny’s cheek and she leaned over to kiss his nose. In the other room, James was whispering something, but Ginny could not make out the words. There was a loud thump. For a fraction of a second, Ginny was worried, but no cry followed. It was, she realised, simply James getting out of bed by bouncing on it and jumping onto the floor.

‘Me do ’at,’ said Al loudly. There was an equally loud thump followed by high pitched laughter.

The loud noises were followed by faint footsteps on the thick carpet.

‘It’s dis door, Al,’ said James.

Ginny heard the door handle move and saw Harry lift his head to look past her, to the door leading to the room their sons had shared. The moment they heard the door open Ginny and Harry both spoke.

‘Good morning, boys,’ said Ginny.

‘Hello, guys,’ was Harry’s greeting.

‘Eh, oh,’ said Al.

‘Morning MummyanDaddy,’ said James.

He ran to the bottom of the bed, pulled up the covers, and began to wriggle into the bed from the bottom, aiming, as he always did, to crawl up between them. Al, as usual, followed his brother.

Ginny felt Harry release her and roll away. She shuffled onto her back and waited as she felt James creep up past her waist.

‘Hello, Lily,’ said James as his head brushed his mother’s belly. ‘Boo!’ he announced loudly, as his head finally popped out between them.

‘Hello James, how did you get there?’ Harry asked as he kissed James’s sleep tousled hair.

‘Crawled, of course,’ James explained seriously.

Al, his route blocked by his brother, chose instead to climb up his father.

‘Oof,’ Harry groaned as a surprisingly sharp knee caught him under the ribs moments before Al, too arrived at the top of the bed.

‘Morning, Al,’ said Harry.

‘Eh, oh, Daddy ’n Mummy,’ said Al.

‘Well, boys, what do you want to do today?’ Ginny asked.

‘Get Santa’s beard back,’ said James firmly.

‘Es,’ Al agreed.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a concerned glance.

* * *

Over their breakfast in the hotel restaurant, Harry and Ginny tried to persuade their sons to forget about the missing beard. They were unsuccessful, and when it became obvious that their attempts were upsetting Al they made their plans accordingly.

‘We will go to the big store and speak to the owner. Perhaps he will know something,’ Harry suggested to his still subdued sons. ‘Santa vanished outside his store, remember, and even if we find Santa’s beard, we don’t know how to find him.’

‘That’s easy,’ said James scornfully. ‘You write a letter to him, address it to a norf pole, frow it inna fire, an ‘e gets it like magic.’

Ginny exchanged a worried glance with her husband; it was obvious that James was not going to forget the events of the previous evening, and neither was Al. The problem wasn’t going to go away. She fervently hoped that Mr Phoenix would see them and that he’d admit that he wasn’t the _real_ Santa Claus.

* * *

Side Way was busier than ever. The streets were crowded with happily smiling families enjoying the Christmas experience. Ginny looked down at her sons, unlike most of the other children in the street, they both looked very serious. As they walked along the bustling street, James pulled his mother to a halt outside the department store window.

‘Look!’ he pointed proudly. ‘Santa! My found him.’

Ginny looked into the window. Behind the placard reading “Santa’s Busiest Day, courtesy of N J Phoenix, Dept. Store” was a large photograph. In it the man they’d met the previous evening was waving cheerfully. He was sitting in a large chair covered in white fur, and behind him a sign read “Phoenix’s Famous Santa’s Grotto”. Ginny smiled in relief.

‘Well done James,’ Harry said.

‘Yes, clever boy,’ Ginny added. ‘You know what this means, don’t you?’

James shook his head. Ginny looked at Harry for confirmation before speaking. His eyes told her yes; it was best to prepare the boys now.

‘The man we met yesterday wasn’t the real Santa Claus,’ she began. ‘That photograph shows that he works here. Lots of shops and stores have people who dress up like Santa, and ask children what they want for Christmas. The man we met was just pretending to be Santa.’

James and Al gravely considered this information.

‘Santa not know my wanna money,’ was Al’s unhappy conclusion.

‘I’m sure that he will have told the real Santa,’ Harry assured Al.

‘Summum still stole his beard,’ said James, firmly folding his arms in a manner which reminded Harry of both his wife and his mother-in-law. ‘Wha’ if he _had_ bin Santa? I bet a bad man didn’t care!’

‘Shall we go and talk to him? We can ask how he is,’ Ginny suggested. The boys nodded. Much relieved, Harry and Ginny took their sons into the store.

Toy Department filled an entire floor and, of course, Santa’s Grotto was at the opposite end to the stairs and lifts. Their progress towards the Grotto was slow, as James and Al dashed excitedly up and down every aisle, making outrageous demands.

‘Want that!’

‘That!’

‘Wow!’

‘Really, really, _really_ want that!’

‘Really, really, really, really, _really_ want that!’

Ginny and Harry followed closely behind them and took advantage of the—these days rare—opportunity to hold hands. Ginny spent much of her time reminding her husband that the majority of the boys’ presents were already bought and wrapped, and that they shouldn’t spoil their sons. She watched her husband’s inner turmoil. His desire to make certain that the kids weren’t spoiled like Dudley was fighting his desire to make sure that they had a much happier childhood than he did.

‘We’ve bought them enough already, Harry,’ she whispered, hugging him.

‘If you’re sure, Ginny,’ he said, eventually.

When they finally reached Santa’s Grotto, they discovered, to their astonishment, that it was closed. Ginny immediately sought out a shop assistant. ‘Where’s Santa?’ she demanded. ‘Where’s Mr Phoenix?’

The startled assistant smiled politely at Ginny; he had taken in her pregnancy before he’d looked into her face. When he did, the man recognised her instantly; he glanced over her shoulder, and spotted Harry and the boys.

‘There hasn’t been a Mr Pheonix at the store for many years, Mrs Potter. The store’s founder had three daughters,’ he explained.

‘We were right, he must have been pointing at the photograph behind the sign,’ said Harry to Ginny. ‘Where is your Santa?’ he asked the man.

‘We’ve had to close the Grotto temporarily while we find a replacement Father Christmas, Mr Potter. Phoenix prides itself on the quality of our Christmas displays and we insist that our Father Christmas has a genuine beard.’ He lowered his voice confidingly. ‘Our man turned up this morning beardless. He told my manager, some ridiculous story about being attacked and having his beard stolen. We had to … let him go. We hope to reopen this afternoon.’

‘Snot a story,’ James announced loudly. ‘We see’d him.’

The shop assistant looked at James in surprise.

‘We did,’ Harry confirmed. ‘We met him both before, and after, he’d been attacked. He was stunned and shaved. We were wondering how he was. Can you give me his address?’

‘We, er, we can’t give out our employee’s addresses, Mr Potter,’ the man said uncertainly.

‘What about his name?’ Ginny asked.

‘Ah, er, well,’ the man began. ‘He, er, we, er, well… He showed us his payslip from his last employer, so we had to accept that as proof of identity, but, er…’ Ginny was beginning to lose her patience; she placed her hands on her hips and glared at the man. Quailing under her gaze, the man finally cracked. ‘He said that his name was Nicholas Saint, sorry,’ the shop assistant admitted nervously.

‘And you accepted that?’ Harry asked.

The man nodded unhappily.

‘Who Nickerless Saint, Mummy?’ James asked.

‘We’ll explain later, James,’ said Ginny, although she had no intention of doing so.

‘Please ask your manager if there is any way you can give me an address,’ said Harry. ‘It’s important. We’re staying at the Wand and Thistle until tomorrow. You can leave a message for me there.’

The man nodded and scurried away.

‘We still can’t find Santa, sorry boys,’ said Ginny. ‘But at least we know that this Mr Saint was working here, so he wasn’t the real Santa, was he?’

Al still looked very uncertain. His mouth was pursed and small and he was blinking rapidly. Harry squatted down and hugged his younger son.

‘Not Santa, Al,’ James assured his brother as he, too, moved forward into his father’s embrace.

Ginny hunkered down to join in the family hug.

‘Shall we have another look at the toys instead?’ she suggested after she’d been helped to struggle back to her feet by Harry.

Al and James gave Ginny’s suggestion a few minutes thought. When James finally said, ‘Yes,’ Al nodded in agreement.

It was some time before James’s hunger finally overcame his desire to look at toys. When it did they climbed the stairs to the crowded fourth floor restaurant and waited in the queue to be seated. Despite the immediate offer of a table, Harry insisted on waiting his turn.

They had almost finished their lunch when Ginny saw the woman. The queue for the restaurant was even longer than it had been when they had arrived, but the woman had pushed her way to the front and began arguing with the waitress. Ginny wasn’t tall, but the woman was even smaller, she was less than five feet tall, even in her heels. She was blonde, bespectacled, and wearing Muggle clothes.

The woman ducked past the waitress and strode rapidly towards their table. Ginny glanced at Harry and reached for her wand, she knew that Harry was doing the same.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr Potter,’ the blonde woman began.

Ginny saw Harry flinch when the woman spoke. The blonde’s voice was naturally high pitched, and her obvious excitement was making it shrill. Her words were a dentist’s drill to the ears and brought with them the natural desire to make the horrible noise stop, now! ‘My name is Rhianna Wrigglesworth and…’

‘Mark Moon asked you to contact me?’ said Harry. ‘Is it about the Beard Hunter?’

‘Yes, Mark is on his way,’ Rhianna continued. ‘He’s bringing someone with him, he didn’t say who. He asked me to tell you my story, said it was urgent. I’ve been trying to find you…’

‘And now you have,’ said Harry, giving everyone’s eardrums a moment of relief. ‘I’d appreciate a brief report, Bailiff Wrigglesworth.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Rhianna calmed down a little, and her voice became merely annoying. ‘The night before last I was called to a silent alarm at Tadcaster Trinkets. Mr Thistlethwaite doesn’t maintain his alarm properly and it is always going off, so I attended the scene alone.’

Ginny smiled to herself as she listened to the form of words. You could always tell a law office Bailiff by the way he, or she, spoke.

‘I found the rear door to the store room open, so—having reasonable grounds to believe that a robbery was in progress—I entered the premises. I heard someone moving, and identified myself. The man swore, and I realised that he was about to Disapparate, I tried to stun him, but I missed and he escaped. I immediately called Mr Thistlethwaite and discovered that a box of Bauble Beads had been stolen. However, in his haste to escape, the thief had dropped this.’

Rhianna placed a small cloth pouch on the table. Harry opened it, peered inside, and pulled out several strands of white hair.

‘Santa’s beard,’ James said excitedly.

Rhiannna Wrigglesworth looked quizzically at James.

‘No, James,’ said Ginny. ‘This lady found this beard the night before last. The man who dropped it must have needed a replacement. So that’s why he stole another beard last night.’

‘Did you get a good look at the man?’ Harry asked.

Rhianna Wrigglesworth shook her head. ‘I only saw a silhouette,’ she said. ‘He was a squat little bloke, not much taller than me, and bandy-legged. I caught a faint whiff of cheap booze and stale tobacco.’

Ginny exchanged a knowing glance with her husband, but before Harry could speak there was another commotion at the entrance to the restaurant. Lavender and Mark had arrived. To Ginny’s amazement, they had Mundungus Fletcher held firmly between them.

‘That’s him,’ announced Rhianna with an excited, eardrum-shattering, shriek. She pointed at Fletcher. ‘That’s the man I saw.’

‘Very bad man,’ announced James, pointing accusingly at Fletcher.

The entire restaurant fell silent and waited to watch the drama unfold.

‘I ain’t done nuffink,’ Mundungus protested feebly.

‘Stole Santa’s beard!’ accused James.

Fletcher burst into phlegm filled laughter, ‘Don’t be daft kid, there ain’t no such fing as…’

He got no further, Harry, Ginny and, it seemed, every other parent in the restaurant had drawn their wands and were pointing them threateningly at the scruffy little man. Al Potter let out an unhappy wail and Ginny swept him into her arms. The daggers of Ginny’s glare had pierced Fletcher’s voice box and he trembled fearfully, unable to speak.

A new voice broke the ensuing silence. ‘Mr Potter, I’m Miss Ett, I’m manager of the toy department, I understand that you were looking for me. Perhaps it would be best if you and your … associates … came to my office.’ Ginny looked at the stout middle-aged woman who had spoken. She recognised the anxious young man at her side as the shop assistant they had spoken to earlier.

‘What’s happening, Mummy?’ asked James.

‘I have no idea, James, but I’m sure that we’ll find out soon.’ She stood, passed the still unhappy Al over to Harry, and left more than enough money to pay for their meal. ‘Lead on, Miss Ett,’ she said.

‘Please, call me Marion,’ the woman said.

The peculiar procession left the restaurant and followed Marion through a door marked “staff only”. Al and James were wide-eyed with excitement as they entered the hidden side of the store. Mundungus, Ginny noticed, was looking at everything with an appraising eye. He was obviously casing the joint. Mark and Lavender had released him, but he was in the company of two Aurors and two Law Office Bailiffs, and he was cowed and silent.

As Miss Ett led them down two flights of stairs and along a corridor filled with battered and broken boxes, Harry explained what was going on to the toy department manageress. After hearing the story, at least as much as Harry knew, Miss Ett had sent her assistant off to try to track down Nicholas Saint.

They eventually reached a door marked “Miss M Ett, Toy Department” and were ushered solicitously through it.

‘Sit,’ Harry told Mundungus when they entered the office. He conjured a hard wooden chair next to the office wall and motioned Fletcher into it.

‘Harry,’ Fletcher began contritely.

‘Shut up, Dung,’ ordered Harry.

Harry then conjured six, rather more comfortable chairs in a semi-circle around Fletcher, chose the central chair, sat, and scooped James onto his knee. Ginny picked up Al and sat next to him. Lavender sat on Harry’s right and guided a bemused-looking Mark into the seat next to her. This left Miss Ett and Rhianna to fight over who sat next to Ginny.

‘Can I ask; what exactly is going on?’ Miss Ett said.

‘That’s what I’d like to know missus,’ Fletcher said. ‘I’m bein’ harassed.’

‘Shut up, Dung,’ Harry said.

‘Really, Mr Potter, language!’ Miss Ett protested.

‘It’s his name, Marion,’ Ginny explained. ‘This is Mun _dung_ us Fletcher, known to everyone as Dung. And this time he’s in real trouble.’

Fletcher opened his mouth to protest.

‘Say nothing,’ Harry ordered. He turned to Mark and Lavender, ‘I assume that Rhianna contacted you.’

‘Yes, Harry. She got in touch with Mark, just after we’d collared Dung. I told her to contact you. I thought that it might be important. Rhianna thought that I was joking.’ Lavender turned politely to the blonde and smiled sweetly whiled giving the Bailiff a glimpse of her claws and fangs. ‘It’s so nice to meet you, Rhianna,’ she said. ‘Mark’s told me _all_ about you.

‘Why did you arrest Dung, Lavender?’ asked Harry hastily.

‘He isn’t under arrest,’ said Lavender. ‘We simply told him that the Head of the Auror Office wanted a word with him. He’s here voluntarily.’

‘So I can leave at any time.’ Dung stood up.

‘If you don’t sit down and shut up, Mundungus Fletcher, you won’t be dealing with the Auror Office, you’ll be dealing with me!’ Ginny warned the little man.

Fletcher looked at Harry, hoping for help. Harry shook his head. The little man slumped back in the chair, defeated.

‘He was selling these in Diagon Alley,’ said Lavender, pulling the glass lens from her handbag and passing it to Harry. ‘He’s selling them as protection Amulets.’ She passed Harry the “guarantee”, too. He read it, suppressed a smile, and passed them to Ginny.

‘That’s a Bauble Bead, like the ones stolen from Tadcaster Trinkets,’ squealed Rhianna.

‘It weren’t me,’ Fletcher said half-heartedly. ‘I bought ‘em off a bloke…’

‘Lying is very naughty,’ said James.

‘It is, James,’ Harry agreed. ‘So Mr Fletcher is going to tell us the truth, isn’t he?’ Harry glared at the little man. ‘Otherwise I’ll summon my house-elf. And ask him to bring his biggest saucepan.’

‘Kreacher nice,’ Al announced happily. ‘My likes Kreacher.’

‘I bloo…min’ well don’t,’ said Dung with feeling.

‘The truth, Dung,’ said Harry. ‘Who is “Felonious Crookes”, and have you really been stealing beards for ten or more years.’

‘If anybody is Felonious Crookes, then I suppose it’s me,’ said Dung. ‘But, you can’t steal a beard. I only provided a free shave to a few hairy blokes, and I kept the hair. That ain’t a crime. It can’t possibly be. If it was, then every barber in the country would have to give you your hair back after he’d given you a haircut.’

‘Mine does,’ said Lavender. ‘A girl can’t be too careful.’

‘Why, did you do it, Dung?’ Harry asked.

‘It’s useful for Polyjuice Potions, plus I’ve bin sellin’ them Amulets fer donkey’s years. Nice little sideline at Christmas, they are. Made an absolute fortune over the Christmas of ’97 I did. Of course, trade’s fallen off since then, so I’ve had to stop claimin’ that they protect people from Dark Magic, but everyone’s heard o’ Merlin, ‘is beard must be magical, mustn’t it? Like I say, it brings a bit o’ extra money in over Christmas. It’s money for old beard,’ said Dung. He chuckled loudly, but when no one else laughed, he fell silent. ‘That were a joke, Harry,’ he said hopefully.

‘Not,’ announced James.

‘No,’ Al agreed.

‘The man you shaved yesterday, Dung, He was Santa Claus in this store,’ Harry told him.

‘And you made him lose his job, and you made our sons very unhappy,’ said Ginny.

Dung shrugged.

‘At Christmas!’ Ginny added. She folded her arms and glared.

Fletcher trembled. ‘Merlin,’ he said, looking warily at Ginny. ‘Yer almost as scary as yer Mum when yer do that! I didn’t know, did I? He was just some bloke in the street. If yer want ‘is beard it’s in my case, ‘bout half of it is in ‘em Bauble things. It took me most of the night to make ‘em.’

‘Arrest him for the burglary in Tadcaster, Rhianna,’ said Harry. ‘And if I ever hear about any more missing beards, Dung…’

‘But, Harry, it’s Christmas, what about some charity for a fellow member of the Order…’ Fletcher’s protests were cut short because Rhianna Wrigglesworth had pulled out a pair of Portcuffs and clamped them around his wrists. Mundungus Fletcher vanished in a bright blue light.

‘Thanks, Mr Potter,’ she screeched. ‘If you need him, he’s in the cells at the York Sheriff’s Office. Bye, Mark, I’ll let Rhys know that we’ve caught the Beard Hunter.’ She hurried from the room.

‘Well,’ said Miss Ett. She looked bamboozled by the peculiar turn of events. ‘I asked you here, Mr Potter, to explain our policy about our Santa Claus. I wasn’t expecting…’

The office door opened and her assistant entered, along with Nicholas Saint.

‘You’ve found my beard! Thank you.’ The man was beaming happily.

‘Yes, but…’ Harry began.

Nicholas Saint lifted Dung’s suitcase from Lavender’s lap and threw it into the air. The case burst open, as did all of the Baubles inside it, and the strands of beard floated slowly through the air and reattached themselves to his face. Ginny felt the Bauble she was holding tugging at her hand so she released it and watched the final few strands break free and return to their rightful place.

‘Yay!’ said Al.

‘Wow,’ said James.

‘How?’ asked Harry and Ginny.

Nicholas Saint stroked his beard and laughed. It was a real Santa laugh, a merry “ho-ho-ho” chuckle.

‘How? Christmas magic, of course, it’s something I’m very good at. Thank you … thank you all,’ he said. He turned and, with a twinkle in his eye, he addressed each of them in turn. ‘Harry, Ginny, all you want for Christmas is friends and family. You have those in abundance. It’s a rare and wonderful treat for me to meet people who are content. You wanted a happy Christmas, and now you will have one. James, Al, I know what you want, but do you really want a monkey. Do you think that you could care for a real live monkey?’

The two boys sadly shook their heads.

‘Then I’ll see what else I can find for you. It will be my surprise.’

He turned to face Mark Moon. ‘I know what you want too, Mark, and it’s something I cannot give you. Instead, I’ll give you some advice. The present you must give is one you have already given. But you must make it physical.’

‘He’s getting to be very good at physical,’ Lavender interrupted.

‘And you, Lavender,’ Nicholas said, cutting her off. ‘Possessions aren’t everything. Sometimes the thing you need to give costs nothing, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t also priceless,’ Nicholas said.

‘What?’ said Lavender puzzling over his words.

But Nicholas was already striding from the room. ‘I have children waiting for me, and I mustn’t disappoint them, must I, my dear Miss Ett? Farewell, and Merry Christmas to you all.’

‘But… Well… I suppose...’ Miss Ett made several attempts to speak, but words failed her.

‘What just happened?’ asked Lavender.

‘I fink he really was Santa,’ said James confidently.

‘Yes, Santa,’ Al agreed.

* * *

Lavender’s father was handing out the presents, it was a family tradition.

‘And finally,’ he announced. ‘Mark brought this around for you yesterday. It seems to have fallen to the back of the pile.’ He handed his daughter a rectangular box.

Lavender was sitting cross legged on the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper, and new clothes. She looked at the wrapping paper with its smiling Santas and read the label, “For Lavender—something you already have, made physical, all my love, Mark.”

The words of Nicholas Saint drifted back to her as she carefully unwrapped the present. The man had gone straight back to work in the store, and the queue of children and parents around his grotto had made it impossible to ask him any more questions. Harry had been happy to let it rest. His kids were now convinced that Mr Saint really was Santa Claus. He certainly had a good act, Lavender thought, smiling as she remembered the twinkle the old man’s his eye when he’d noticed her watching him.

She looked down at the box. It was covered in pale lilac satin and had the words “Phoenix Jewellery Department” embossed in silver upon its lid. She opened it slowly and examined the contents curiously. It was a silver key on a silver chain; a necklace. The bow of the key was in the shape of a heart, the bit was a stylised MM, Mark’s initials, and the shank was patterned.

No not patterned, she realised, it was engraved. She read the tiny words on the shank: “the key to my heart”, and burst into tears.

* * *

Mark opened the door to his flat. Lavender noticed that he was wearing the striped shirt and chinos she had bought him for Christmas. He looked down at her, saw the silver key nestled in her cleavage, and smiled his happiest smile.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked nervously.

‘I didn’t know until I saw this,’ she said, lifting the key from her bosom. ‘I didn’t realise that I’d never told you. But I’ve thought about it, and I haven’t. Because the men I’ve told in the past threw the words away. My gift that costs nothing is this: I love you, Mark.’

He turned away, and she knew that he was crying.

‘Are you all right, Mark?’ she heard his mother call from the living room.

‘He’s fine, Mrs Moon,’ Lavender shouted.

* * *

Al’s monkey marched up and down the living room floor, banging its drum. Al was marching behind. He was using a toy wand as his drumstick and a hastily emptied sweet tin as his drum. The sweets lay scattered and forgotten across the floor.

James’s monkey jumped and tumbled and he chased it, laughing, unable to catch it until the clockwork finally ran down.

‘Wind up, wind up!’ he demanded.

‘And mine,’ Al asked when his monkey stopped drumming.

Harry smiled at his wife and did as he was told.

‘The best presents aren’t always the most expensive, Harry,’ said Ginny.

‘How do you think he delivered them?’ asked Harry. ‘This house is supposed to be secure.’

‘Perhaps he really was Santa Claus,’ suggested Ginny smiling.

‘Was,’ said Al.

‘Yes!’ James looked around the room at the piles of wrapping paper. ‘What’s your favouritest present Daddy?’ he asked.

‘The smile on your faces, boys,’ Harry said. ‘Merry Christmas.’

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to all my readers (and a Happy Hogmanay, too).


End file.
